


Three Minutes

by Hideous_Sun_Demon



Category: Designated Survivor (TV)
Genre: F/M, this is why we can’t have nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:05:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hideous_Sun_Demon/pseuds/Hideous_Sun_Demon
Summary: It had taken Aaron three minutes to bleed out in your arms. It had taken you three minutes to realise that you loved him.





	Three Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> why did I write this lmaoooo

This would take three minutes, you said. Three minutes to consolidate, and then Aaron could go back to his hectic life, and you could go back to figuring out what the hell you were supposed to be doing with your own. He had sounded reserved on the phone- it was a funny way of his; always reluctant, but then always, _always_ giving in to anything you asked. There would be a struggle to get your way- but that’s what you liked about it; about him. Never easy, but always fun, and always reliable in the end. It was something you’d missed, being on your own. Even having Chuck in your ear just wasn’t quite the same, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

He was here now, outside a coffee shop and hovering on the edge of going in. You were a minute and a half into your explanation, and even though you weren’t worried- you could ask for a minute more, five, a whole hour, and you knew he would give it to you; especially with what you were telling him- you didn’t waste time sharing with him how you’d missed more than just his reliability, his assistance. You’d missed _him_.

But now wasn’t the time.

His eyes were wide as you told him about Valeria, about Amy, and- almost reluctantly- about Emily. You knew this would hurt him, but you also knew he would never tell you to stop, not when there was a job to be done. He took the USB drive you offered with unflinching hands, slipping it into his pocket. You were painfully aware of what little else you could do now. You weren’t FBI anymore, and this wasn’t a revenge mission for you to throw caution to the wind to pursue- this was a federal investigation. He would want this conducted through the proper channels. You let him know, though, with the cool press of your stare, that none of that would matter to you if he asked otherwise. _Just say the word. I’ll do what needs to be done._

He wasn’t one for vengeance, you knew. But you were certain you had enough vindictiveness left for the both of you.

Your three minutes were up. You had said all you needed to. You didn’t ask him to stay-

~~_you wanted to_ ~~

-but he lingered anyway, and you peered up expectantly up at him; bracing yourself without being fully conscious of it. Maybe there were things he wanted to say as well- you could read them in how his eyes were trained on you, open and earnest in the way he never usually allowed himself to be- but a part of you prayed that he would just walk away instead, or that you would find the strength to yourself. There were things that you wanted that you could not have, you knew that. You’d fooled yourself with Damien, and you weren’t one to get burned twice. No, you’d learnt your lesson.

Walking away then, seemed like the best option. You made to turn on your heel, but there was something in his gaze that kept you a second longer. His silence was asking you something and, goddamnit, he had given you so much already- maybe you could give him just this? Just a minute more? You turned back, and he went to say something-

Three bangs.

You hit the ground a full second before you even registered that the sounds were gunshots, and Aaron did the same. The source- an unmarked black car- sped out of sight, and your heart seized violently. It was far too similar to be a coincidence. Valeria was lying cold and dead on the other side of the world, but there would have been others, surely- god, how could you have been so stupid to think this was over? This could have been Russia’s own vengeance, or an attempt to silence you on what you knew about Emily. Your only consolation was that they’d failed on all counts. You gave yourself half a second to lay on the ground, stunned and overcome with memories of Damien bleeding out in your arms before you bolted back upright, poised and ready for a fight.

There was none to have. The car was long gone, and nobody was closing in on them on foot, just a wide circle of terrified pedestrians babbling into their phones. You lowered your raised fists and pivoted to face Aaron, ready with congratulations on his lightning reflexes. He was still on the ground, collapsed in a pile of glass from the coffee shop window that had been hit by the three bullets, the sharp shards glinting menacingly in the afternoon light. You held out a hand to help him up, and you were still smirking a fraction when his arm moved, and his jacket fell open to reveal two smudges of brilliant red, quickly spreading out across his crisp white shirt.

One bullet, you numbly corrected your initial assessment. One bullet had struck the window, and the other two had found their homes right in the middle of Aaron’s chest.

_Not again, not again, nonononono-_

“Aaron.”

It was all you could say as you ripped off your jacket and dropped to your knees in front of him, not even feeling the bite of glass. Your hands were steady- one pressing your bundled up coat against the warm spread of his chest, and the other already dialling 911. Your mind was a whir; trying to calculate the damage done- they had missed his heart, you were certain, by maybe an inch, and would that be enough to save him?- and realising that maybe you hadn’t been the target of this attack at all- or maybe you had been, but the shooter had decided that the White House National Security Advisor was a bigger target. Most of all, though, you couldn’t help but remember, _remember_ \- was this worse than Damien? He’d been shot just once more, you remembered the formation exactly, but he was almost gone before he’d even hit the ground. Aaron was still conscious, clammy and gaping, and peering up at you with dazed eyes. He tried to speak- he could only manage a gurgle, blood bubbling up on his lips, but it was enough to snap you out of the uncanny feeling that this was just a nightmare you’d had too many times before. It reminded you that this was really happening.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” you told him unnecessarily. “So you better hold tight. You hear me, Aaron? You think I’m gonna let you get away with dying on me? No chance. No- Aaron?”

Aaron glanced falteringly down at his chest. The warm spread of blood had seeped past the press of your jacket, and you could feel the sluggish pulse of it as it heaved out of him in bursts. When he looked back up at you, his face was slack and resigned. He knew.

He coughed out a mumble again; something that could have been an apology, or a goodbye, or even just your name. You wanted to yell at him to shut the hell up. You told him once, that you never got to say goodbye. You weren’t about to start now- if you said anything then it would all be real. And Aaron wasn’t dead yet, he was still awake, the ambulance was on its way; there was still time-

Aaron’s hand felt cold as it landed on yours. It only lasted a second, he was losing the strength to even hold himself up, but it was enough to ground you for one fleeting moment. The touch sent an electric shock through you, and you pressed down harder in response.

“Not you,” you said harshly. “Not you, Aaron, I can’t-“

_I can’t lose you. Anyone but you._

The realisation hit you then, trickling in as quickly as the colour was leeching from Aaron’s cheeks. You had been aware of it before, you thought, in the way you’d catch yourself considering the line of his jaw or the curve of his lip. But now you were remembering his jokes, and his rare smiles that lit up his face, and the way he had let you see Damien’s belongings one last time- the way he always came through when you needed him, and _oh god this was worse than Damien._

“ _Everyone who gets close to me dies.”_ You had told him that once. It was now that you realised that you were only able to tell him that, only able to be so vulnerable with him, because he was the one person you couldn’t afford to let that happen to.

A smile stuttered across his face, blood smeared lips spreading a ghastly red across his pallid cheeks. Maybe he knew. Maybe he was smiling because it was him dying, and not you. It didn’t make this any easier. _Goddamn you, Aaron Shore,_ you hissed in your mind as you felt him slacken beneath your urgent hands, as his chest heaved in and out with a final shudder. You didn’t say it out loud, no matter how much you may have wanted to start screaming and never, ever stop. _You goddamn bastard, don’t do this to me._

It suddenly struck you to be grateful that at least he hadn’t taken the bullets for you. You couldn’t have done that again, not with him, you couldn’t-

A few onlookers had braved their way over, and now they knelt beside you, helping you support his lolling head as you lay him down and began CPR. You hated how still his chest was beneath your hands, or how people were helping to keep pressure on his wounds because _goddamnit there was no point this wasn’t fucking working!_ You knew- you were all too familiar with what a dead body felt like now. This was never how you’d imagine it would feel, getting to touch him. This isn’t how you’d seen yourself pressing your mouth to his. You’d imagined- but it didn’t fucking matter anymore, did it? You’d let yourself get too close, and what always happened...happened.

Why had you expected anything but this to happen?

Why did you never learn your lesson?

_God, Aaron, I’m so sorry._

The whine of the sirens reached a crescendo- they had arrived seconds ago, but this was the first you’d heard them. The paramedics came to take him from you. Before they could move him, though, you stole one moment for yourself. You pressed a hand to his chest, felt its emptiness, and as you finally drew away, slipped a hand into his pocket, concealing your prize in one curled fist. Then, you let them take him. All you saw as they lifted him up onto the waiting stretcher was his right arm dangling lifelessly, fingers still and untroubled. They were bone-white, somehow escaping the carnage of blood that had now dyed his entire front scarlet- it had all ended up on yours instead.

A paramedic placed her hand on your shoulder, gesturing to the ambulance, but you stood and boarded wordlessly without having to hear anything she was saying. You knew the drill by now. They were still working on him as they drove off, but their grim faces said everything that you already knew. You didn’t look at Aaron’s still form, instead finding yourself checking the time. Amy wouldn’t be wondering where you were yet- it had barely been twenty minutes. It should have seemed impossible that this all could have happened so quickly; Aaron, here one minute and gone the next, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel shocked. Death wasn’t a drawn out movie scene, with a somber soundtrack and just the right amount of time to say all those things that needed to be said. Your life gave you no tearful goodbyes. For you, death was quick, and brutal, and far too simple.

It had taken Aaron three minutes to bleed out in your arms. It had taken you three minutes to realise that you loved him.

You felt the bite of cool plastic against your bloody palm. It was a cold comfort, a welcome distraction from the way you could feel your chest collapsing in on itself. You snuck a glance down at the USB drive you had snagged from Aaron’s pocket. He would have wanted this to go through the proper channels, but since when had you ever done what he wanted? You thought about that grainy video, let Emily Rhodes’ face burn against the back of your eyelids. Whatever this was all about, whoever was behind it all, it was up to you to figure it out- and you didn’t want them knowing about it until it was too late.

It shouldn’t be Aaron lying there, you thought. You let the first tears begin to fall, but you could still feel a smile spread slow and frigid across your face. You should have died instead. They would learn that, soon enough.

Leaving you alive was the worst mistake they ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry bud


End file.
